CS Short Stories
by owlwayssandforever
Summary: So there's a daily CS writing challenge that I've been doing, and so far I've been posting each piece individually, but some are pretty short, so I've decided to post them together instead. So this is sort of an amalgamation of a bunch of little one shots, like a collection of short stories. Note: the ones that I've already posted will be left up, but in future I'll post here.
1. Books

**Uniquely Portable Magic**

What Emma is most surprised about, when she first gets the chance to really look around the Jolly Roger (after Killian gets rid of every trace of Blackbeard and returns it to his own liking), is the amount of books scattered around. They aren't nicely arranged on a shelf, but piled two or three books high in seemingly random places. _Aesop's Fables_ , _Dracula_ , and _Great Expectations_ sit on the corner of his desk; _Tess of the d'Ubervilles_ and _Robinson Crusoe_ are in the kitchen cabinet _In the Court of King Arthur_ , _Peter and Wendy_ , and _Moby Dick_ are tucked away in his closet; _Treasure Island_ , and the complete works of Jane Austen are in a large crate full of rope on deck; _Far From the Madding Crowd_ , _The Woman in White_ , and _The Canterbury Tales_ are stacked in the hold; most interestingly though, is _Paradise Lost_ and _Gulliver's Travels_ tucked far under his bed, impossible to see unless you lie on the floor (Emma finds them one day when she is looking for her socks).

"What's with all the books hidden around here?" Emma asks Killian one night when they're eating a picnic on the deck, gesturing around her.

"I've picked up many things in my years of travel, love," he answers, somewhat evasively, scratching behind his ear.

"Killian," she smiles, her heart warmed by his embarrassment.

"Alright, love, I happen to be quite fond of classic literature." Killian turns to look out over the water in an effort to hide the color rising on his cheeks.

"Only the classics?" she teases, nudging his arm with her shoulder.

"I am three hundred years old, after all," he jokes, his smile not quite reaching his eyes, and Emma can tell there's something he's not quite telling her, but she doesn't press the issue.

"Tell you what," she says, running her fingers down his arm until she can wrap them around his hook and tug lightly, his eyes turning back to her after a moment, "why don't I give you some newer books to read, and you can tell me which of the classics I should embark upon, and we can see who has better taste." He smiles broadly at her competitiveness, completely in love with the way her proud challenge issues from her eyes as well as her words.

"You're on, Swan," he answers, injecting as much confidence as he can into his words.

The next morning Emma sits in her usual booth with Henry, sipping on hot chocolate (with cinnamon of course) and making a list of all the books she thinks Killian she read, Henry adding his own recommendations every few seconds. So far the list looks like:

A Clockwork Orange

Lord of the Flies

Fight Club

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

The DaVinci Code

The Lord of the Rings

To Kill a Mockingbird

Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy

The Three Musketeers

Catch-22

"Harry Potter!" Henry adds enthusiastically, pointing towards the list.

"He's not a kid," Emma protests, but Henry just rolls his eyes.

"It's not just for kids. Besides, it's a modern classic, isn't that the whole point. Come on, no one can go through life without reading Harry Potter."

"I've been doing just fine," Emma counters, feeling a little defensive.

"Mom! You have to read it too! I'm adding it to your list!" He grabs her jacket before she can stop him, and reaches inside the pocket where he knows she keeps the list Killian wrote for her, taking it out and scrawling Harry Potter in big letters across the bottom (as much as she protests, Emma knows she'll treasure this little note even more now).

"Henry…"

"Come on, Mom, please." He flashes her puppy dog eyes, and damn does she love this kid.

"Fine," she sighs, writing it along the bottom of the list.

Emma lounges in the big leather chair, her feet hanging with her knees hooked over the arm as she flips the page of _The Secret Garden_ (she's enjoying it much more than she will ever admit, having a hard time putting it down). Killian waltzes in through the door, and Emma can't even peel her eyes away to greet him as he kisses the top of her head.

"What are you up to, love?" he asks teasingly, as the answer is apparent, and Emma ignores him. "Enjoying it?" She hums in response, and he chuckles lightly, knowing her answer is a sign that she is completely engrossed in the book. "I'll get dinner ready then, shall I?" There's a pause before she answers.

"Thank you." She says it quietly, almost a whisper, and it's not only a thank you for dinner, but for letting her read, for letting her get lost in the book, for giving it to her in the first place. And as always, it's a thank you for coming home, for always coming home, for wanting her in the first place. He kisses the top of her head again and moves away toward the kitchen. "Hey Killian," she calls out, and he turns back to her, raising an eyebrow in question. "I love you."


	2. Storm

**Like A Comet Burning Bright**

 _She had a need to feel the thunder_

 _To chase the lightning from the sky_

 _To watch a storm with all its wonder_

 _Raging in her lover's eyes_

* * *

Emma bangs the door of the house shut as she storms in, her mood beyond foul, though she has no real reason why. Since the darkness was banished, this happens sometimes, and it's like someone flips a switch inside her, filling the pit of her stomach with boiling rage. So today, she excuses herself from her sheriff duties early, planning to go home and work out her anger on the punching bag she has set up on their back porch while listening to some pretty aggressive rap until her knuckles are sore and her body is exhausted, at which point she figures she'll take a nice hot, steamy bath with a glass of wine. That should do wonders for her, making her feel worlds better before she has to be around people again. Her plan, however, is foiled when she walks out to the back porch only to find Killian sitting on the porch swing, feet propped up on the other end as he reads a book.

"Swan!" he exclaims, looking up from the pages in surprise. "You're home early." The tiny part of Emma that is still rational begs her to leave it, to tell him that she just needs to blow off some steam and continue on with her plan as intended, but the monster is in control now and she can't seem to walk away.

"As are you," she answers, and though her words themselves aren't inherently mean, the tone behind them is biting.

"Ah, I strained my back trying to move a box of books this afternoon, so Belle advised I go home and take it easy so as to be better by tomorrow." Emma can see now the heating pad poking out from underneath him and the cord stretching over to the outlet in the wall, and the fact that he is in pain should have been enough for her to stop herself, but she can't, and she just snorts unkindly at his mishap. "Don't be deceived by my devilishly handsome self, love, I'm much older than I look."

"Your three hundred years are starting to show, _captain_ ," she spits out, and he cocks his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing in confusion because he knows something is wrong. This is not like her at all, not least of all because he is damn sure that his two hundred and seventy years (thank you very much) aren't showing even in the slightest.

"Emma," he hesitates, wary of saying the wrong thing and provoking her further, "is something wrong?"

"Yes, you," she answers, and she starts to feel the words flowing, a cascade of unmeant feelings issuing forth from the deepest pit inside her. "Always here, just hanging about, never doing anything, not being useful."

"Emma, what am I qualified to do? I've never been anything but a naval officer or a pirate, neither of which are necessary in Storybrooke." His eyes are still cautious, the expression on his face showing a mixture of concern and confusion as he waits for her to voice her real problem (knowing that this objection is not what is making her so unreasonably angry). She just ignores his [very valid] point and barrels on, the verbal waterfall now demanding to force itself out of her.

"You think you can just sit around all the time, being all handsome and charming, and that'll just make everything alright, that just because you're good looking you can just, and your stupid tattoos," she might as well say the word in singular because her eyes flick to his bare forearm as she says it, and he absolutely catches the movement, "and just because you talk like freaking Shakespeare, I mean seriously, who does that? And you're still here, but you shouldn't be, you should have gone running for the hills by now because I'm a nightmare, except you don't. And you flirt with anything that moves like you're some kind of, of, I don't even know, but you're impossible."

"Emma," he tries to interject when she pauses to take a breath, but she just plows on past him without even taking notice.

"God, you're so freaking perfect, everyone thinks you're perfect, but you're not, you know." She starts pacing back and forth, her brain completely shut off as she spews forth words that don't even make sense, that aren't even sentences. "You're, you're… you snore when you sleep, and you're insanely neat so you make everyone else feel like a complete slob, and you're always on time, never fashionably late, and -"

"Emma. Stop." He's stern, started to get a little annoyed by her incessant babbling, his irritation compounded by the aching in his lower back. "Would you like to tell me the real problem or would you prefer to continue to spout nonsense at me?" His eyes flash warningly, but she feels like it's a challenge, and the monster inside of her rears up in triumph at having aggravated him.

"The real problem, _Hook_ , is that you're like a little puppy dog, just following me around with nothing better to do, not like a real man would. You focus all your energy on me, you have nothing else in your life. Until me, you were a grown man, still living on a boat getting drunk and having one night stands all the time, and now you cling to me like a leech."

"EMMA." He has to virtually shout to make himself heard over her, but she stops abruptly when he speaks, her eyes taking in the anger and hurt that is written plainly all over his face. He pushes himself so he is standing (with what looks to be a good deal of pain) to face her. "I'm going to go for a walk, give you some space to cool down a bit." She doesn't even respond right away, her spike of fury not fading until he is halfway down the path to the beach.

"Killian?" she calls out tentatively, not sure what response she's going to get.

"I'll be back in a bit, Swan," he answers, not even bothering to turn back around.

And that, that's the moment the shame and guilt and self-loathing begin to seep into the now-empty pit of rage, and Emma hates herself more in that moment than she thinks she ever has before.

She does take some time with the punching bag after all, but disgust with oneself doesn't dissipate the same way anger does, so when her knuckles are bruised and broken she stops, but she doesn't feel any better.

Killian gets back in time for dinner, and doesn't say anything, Henry is there after all, but he takes Emma's hand gently and smoothes his thumb over the back, his eyebrows drawing together as he takes note of the cuts and bruises on her skin. Killian and Emma are both quiet all through dinner, though he never lets go of her hand, both of them speaking only as much as needed to continue prompting Henry, although the boy is more than happy to carry the conversation, telling them every detail of his day at school and his afternoon with Regina, Robin and Roland at the park, and when he's exhausted that subject he tells them about being the Author and all the questions he has - can he come up with stories of his own to write or does he have to simply record other people's stories? - and Emma tells him that maybe he can ask August.

When dinner is over and the dishes are done, Killian heads to their bedroom while Emma checks that Henry's homework is finished and his teeth are brushed before sending him off to bed with a hug and a reminder that he can read or write or whatever for one hour and then he has to go to sleep because it's a school night after all, and then she goes to her own bedroom, ready to face whatever awaits her there. Killian sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for her to come in, and when she shuts the door behind her, she leans against it, eyes looking down at the floor though she can feel the heat of his gaze on her.

"I'm sorry," she blurts out, and she hears him let out a sigh, lifting her eyes so she can look at him. He looks… tired, and sad, but also relieved and not at all angry.

"Emma, I love you very much, and that doesn't change just because of a few harsh words, though I could live without them." She smiles weakly at the teasing in his voice. "But, did you mean what you said? Do you want me around less?"

"No," she answers quickly, and it's the truth, which she wants him to know, so she walks over and kneels in front of him, taking his hand in hers. "No, I don't. You belong right here, Killian, with me, and Henry, and…" but she lets that particular thought drift away, not ready to deal with the idea of _more_ just yet. She hesitates, then, "I do want you to have a job, but I want you to have one because you enjoy it, and it makes you feel good, and not because I want you to get out of the house or because I push you, and there's no rush. You'll figure it out eventually, find something that clicks, and until then, do whatever you want."

"Okay," he answers, but she can see the cogs still turning in his brain.

"This is your place, Killian, right here. Don't doubt it now just because I'm an idiot." He smiles lightly and his hook goes up to play with her hair, wrapping the curls absentmindedly around the tip.

"But… you'll tell me if you need me to, what's the phrase, back off?" he moves his hand to scratch behind his ear, but she squeezes it instead.

"What I need is you, right beside me, always. Can you do that?"

"Aye, love, I think I manage it."

"Good."

(In the end, Emma takes that hot, steamy bath as well, though she may have some company she hadn't originally planned on, but she's not complaining. His kisses peppered across her skin anywhere the muscles are tight help wash away bad feelings better than anything else possibly could.)

\- Quote from "That Summer" by Garth Brooks. -


	3. Tomorrow

**Are you listening?**

 _This silence is deafening_

 _This ocean is without an end_

 _And there's something I know_

 _Something I know, we were meant to be_

 _Please listen to me, are you listening?_

* * *

Killian Jones has never in his life been a religious individual. His mother never really forced it upon him and Liam as children, though he knew somehow that she had been raised to believe it was of great importance, but when she was asked about it, she simply said that god had turned his back on her long ago. Liam had somehow become a bit more spiritual, and had once tried to convince Killian to follow his lead, but it was to no avail. And after Liam's passing he shared his mother's sentiment that god had abandoned him. Still, he had long ago become aware of the many strange wonders in the realms due to magic, and some form of telepathy would not surprise him in the least at this point.

So when a clear night rolls around and Killian finds himself standing on the roof of the Charming's building (sleeping on the Jolly felt too much like before, back when he had nothing to live for but the thought of destroying the Dark One) looking at the stars, he feels like maybe this is as good a time as any to start talking.

"Emma, love, I realize the odds of your actually being able to hear my supplications are very slim," he starts, eyes turned towards the heavens as though he might be able to see her in the stars somewhere, "but I haven't much to lose at this point, and if it brings you back to me, it's worth anything I have. Can you hear me, Swan?" The eye of Cygnus twinkles brightly, and he takes that as a sign, encouraging him to keep going. "I miss you, darling. I hope you're safe, but I hate to think of what you're going through, all alone with the darkness roiling inside your beautiful mind. Can you forgive me, love, for not stopping you from making this sacrifice? I haven't yet forgiven myself, but maybe if you just come home…" Hot tears prick his eyes and Killian blinks to get rid of them, letting them roll down his cheeks as they see fit. "Henry needs you, Swan. And I, I need you too. More than I can tell you. Emma… Come home to me tomorrow, darling. I love you." He casts one more glance across the sky, taking in the stars one last time before he taps his fist against the brick and turns to go back inside, ready for sleep to take him to dreams of Emma (he always dreams of Emma).

He comes back every night, as much a part of his nocturnal ritual as brushing his teeth, standing on the roof and saying his littler prayer to Emma. Every night, without exception, Killian opens the door to the roof and fixes his eyes on Cygnus, watching for the twinkle of an eye that he takes to mean she's listening. And every night for two weeks the skies stay clear for his sacrament, until one night, they are not, and the clouds cover the stars and rain beats down on the rooftop. Still Killian stands by the edge, looking up where he assumes the constellation would be, and he begins his nightly litany.

"I can't see you tonight, Emma, and I don't know where you are, but I hope that you can still hear me. We're still trying to find you, the whole town, everyone wants you back, though none so much as me, I can assure you, my love. Regina is quite dedicated to the cause. I think she blames herself, though you and I both know she is wrong to do so. We're just worried about you, Swan. Please, love, come home to me tomorrow. I -"

"How about tonight?" Her voice cuts across him and he swears it's a hallucination, and he tells himself that he shouldn't get his hopes up, but his heart is already beating out of control, and he can feel it in his throat as he turns around. But there she is, standing in front of him, real as ever, and it looks like tomorrow just came a little early, and for the first time, Killian Jones is at a complete loss for words.

\- Quote from "Tomorrow" by Olly Murs. -


	4. Discipline

**A Lunchtime Parley**

"Look, Henry, I know you miss Em - your mother, but you can't use her disappearance as an excuse to skip school." Killian tries to sound simultaneously understanding and stern, knowing that Emma's prolonged absence has taken quite a toll on all of them, including her son. Still, truancy was not something to be encouraged, and he knew Emma would be very distressed if she found out that Killian knew Henry was skipping class and did nothing.

"Finding Mom is way more important than stupid school, Killian, I thought you would understand that." Henry had turned up on the Jolly around lunchtime with a bag of Granny's food for the two of them (he had told her that he had forgotten lunch that day and had run over from school quickly, and the older woman had thought nothing of it) and the idea that the two of them would put their heads together for the afternoon to find a way to bring Emma home.

"I do understand, but I also know your mother, and she'd be furious if she found out," Killian insists as Henry pushes through him into the little cabin.

"We can't abandon her! We have to work on Operation Swan." He sets the food out on the wooden counter, grabbing his own plastic fork and knife and digging in as Killian flounders, trying to think of what to do.

"Henry, no one is abandoning her, believe me. David and Mary Margaret and I are doing everything we can to find her, but no one knows where she might have gone, not the damn Crocodile, not even Regina."

"Mom thinks it's all her fault," Henry confides, his eyes falling to the food in front of him as he talks, and Killian sits down opposite him with a sigh, feeling like they might be getting to the real root of the issue. "The darkness, she thinks it was after her. She's miserable. She barely even looks at Robin now, she feels so guilty."

"It's not her fault," Killian assures the boy, feeling his own wave of guilt wash over him.

"I know that. But she won't stop punishing herself until we find Mom." Henry gives him a look Killian knows very well, having used it a fair few times himself - puppy dog eyes.

"We'll find Emma, I swear. But you can't skip school anymore. You can come over afterward in the afternoons, but class is important. Especially if you want to learn to be a good writer to fulfill your duties as the Author." Killian gives him a wink, knowing that he's making progress and Henry groans.

"But -"

"Listen carefully, Henry," Killian says in a quiet, intimidating voice, "I don't really want to tell Regina that you've been skipping school, but believe me I will if I have to. So, starting tomorrow, lad, you will attend a full day of classes, or I let your mother know what's going on, and I don't think she'll be very pleased. And don't think you can bail without me finding out, I'm a bloody pirate, I know everything. You understand?"

"Starting tomorrow?" Henry asks, giving Killian a nervous smile.

"Aye, well, you did bring my favorite lunch, and I there's work to be done, or am I mistaken?" Killian grins warmly as he opens the container of Granny's food meant for him and Henry's whole face lights up as he pulls his book out of his backpack and drops it onto the table, talking nonstop.


	5. Yellow

**Crimson and Gold**

He's red. Bright, burning passion and aggression. He loves from the depths of his heart, with every fiber of his being. He's bold, courageous, outspoken, always making his presence known. He's a survivor, though he would give up his life for those he loves without hesitation. He thinks with the blood pumping through his veins, the adrenaline pounding in his ears.

She's yellow. Lightness and sunshine, all the goodness he ever needs. She's a bright, dewy buttercup, beautiful but fragile. She's strong, but her strength hides so much fear. She thinks with her emotions, even if she never shares them. She's optimistic, though she never admits it, but deep down there's always hope, always a dream.

Some days he's a deeper red, dark and brooding, a crimson indicative of his defiance. He's cocky, sure of himself, dismissive of others. She's often gold, at least to him, pure treasure, not the kind you could find marked by an X on a map. She's confident, sure of herself and her worth, even if she sometimes questions it.

But Killian and Emma, together they're orange. They're comfort, home, security. They're impulsive and fun, and maybe even a little bit childish sometimes, but they're trusting. They reach out to each other instinctively without realizing it, each one acting as an anchor for the other. She softens him, cools his rage, while he brings out her wild side.

Maybe it's subconscious, maybe not, but they always decorate in crimson and gold. Their christmas tree, their house (although it's subtle), their wedding. When she and Killian find out they're having a son, Henry begs them to decorate the nursery red and gold with lions because he's suddenly very into Harry Potter, and besides, it's a very regal look and Emma is a princess after all (Henry's become very fond of reminding her that technically she's the heir to the Enchanted Forest lately, although she always changes the subject quickly when he does), and even though Killian would much rather go with a nautical theme, neither of them has the heart to argue with Henry. It turns out to be a good decision, because little Liam loves lions.

They're red and yellow, crimson and gold, rose colored and pale morning sunshine, and every shade in between. They're warm, so warm, and passionate. And they're perfect… perfect and perfectly happy.


	6. Sleep

**Sleeping Arrangements**

Emma tosses and turns, trying to find a comfortable position to get to sleep. It's difficult most nights lately, but tonight is apparently the hottest night of the year, and nothing makes pregnancy more unbearable than heat. Even her light camisole and shorts feel stifling as she shifts back and forth, switching from her side to her back and back again, trying to find the right ratio of blanket coverage and exposed skin.

"Emma, love, is something wrong?" Killian's voice floats over from beside her as she flips over again.

"I'm sorry, I just can't seem to get comfortable." She feels him shift next to her and then he's pressing a kiss into the space between her shoulder blades.

"Not to worry, darling. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?"

"No," Emma groans, turning onto her back to look at him, "not unless you can get this baby out."

Killian smiles kindly, rubbing his hand over her belly and feeling the baby kick at it.

"I have an idea, love, if you're up for it?"

"Getting the baby out? I think it's a little early for that," Emma looks at him in alarm, but the lack of sleep must be fogging her brain because he just chuckles.

"For getting you comfortable, darling," he grins, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and standing up, heading for the bathroom. A minute later, he returns, offering her his hook and a cheerful smile, "Up you get, my love."

Emma groans as she takes his hook, sitting up getting more and more difficult seemingly each minute, but he pulls her to her feet, leading her to the bathroom where a nice warm bath is drawn in their spacious tub. He helps her climb in first and get settled before clambering in behind her, allowing her to lean back into his chest.

"I read something about water births being easier on the mother, I thought maybe the concept would apply to the pregnancy as well." He presses a kiss to the curve of her neck and scrunches her camisole up above her belly so he can give her a gentle massage, kneading his thumb into her lower back to try to ease some of the soreness.

"Mmm, that feels good," Emma whispers, leaning her head back on his shoulder.

"I'm glad," he answers, kissing her neck again, this time right along the line of her jaw. "Here, lean forward a moment," he tells her, and she complies, Killian moving his hand up to massage her shoulders. Carefully, his fingers work through the tension in her shoulders, slowing inching down her spine as she leans into his hand, her own fingers playing idly with his hook, running over the surface, looping in and out. As he works his way back toward her tailbone, she leans into him, head resting against him and he watches as her eyes flicker shut, a small smile on her face. He waits as her breathing evens out and her body relaxes, Emma slipping off to sleep at last. When he's sure she's asleep, he leans back himself, his hand resting on Emma's stomach, fingers idly tracing patterns on her skin until he drifts off himself.

Emma wakes first in the morning, feeling very refreshed and like she's gotten a full night's sleep for the first time in ages (which is pretty much true). She stretches and climbs out, trading her soaked garments for a fresh, dry t-shirt and shorts, and heading to the kitchen to cook up some pancakes for breakfast. Killian awakes feeling a little less refreshed and a little more sore, but he never complains, happily repeating the ritual every time Emma has trouble sleeping.


End file.
